


Slacker

by Sinna



Category: Newsies (1992)
Genre: M/M, Spot's probably involved with the mafia, World War I, draft dodging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2014-05-23
Packaged: 2018-01-26 04:44:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1675166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinna/pseuds/Sinna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>David never wanted to go to war. And Jack Kelly will do anything for David Jacobs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slacker

As Jack fumbled with the key to the small apartment he shared with Davey, a sense of foreboding seemed to creep over him. It wasn’t exactly unusual to come home to silence. Davey worked long hours sometimes, and even when he didn’t he was often found curled up in an armchair with a book, or the day’s newspaper. But something still felt wrong. Jack had always trusted his instincts, from the time he was boy selling newspapers, and they’d never led him wrong before.

He cracked the door a few inches.

“Davey?”

The only response was a muffled sob. Jack slammed the door open and rushed inside. Davey was curled up on the sofa, his knees tucked into his chest. He looked like a child again. Jack rushed to his side and pressed a hand to his shoulder. Davey shook it off.

“Davey, what’s wrong?”

“Table,” Davey mumbled.

Jack looked to the kitchen table. A letter was half unfolded on its surface. Jack crossed the room and picked it up.

Air rushed out of his lungs in a sharp hiss as he read the letter, flashing back to the night after Davey had registered. Jack had laughed at the prospect, knowing full well that no one would care whether or not he was registered for the draft. But Davey… Davey’s job at the newspaper meant that he had to register. They’d be checking. So Davey had registered, and spent most of the night sobbing in Jack’s arms, Jack’s constant reassurances of, “It won’t be you,” falling on deaf ears.

“This can’t be for you,” Jack stammered. “They can’t do this. They can’t!”

“It’s random, Jack,” Davey said, voice still muffled and shaky. “ _They_ don’t care.”

“There has to be something you can do!”

David raised his head at that.

“Like what? Pacifism is only an excuse if it’s religion-based. What else am I supposed to do? Claim an exemption based on a nonexistent wife and child? You know I’m not a liar, Jack.”

Somehow, despite that his headline-hawking had eventually developed a flair similar to Jack’s, Davey still prided himself on his honesty. He was plenty good at improving the truth, but he tried not to whenever possible.

“Why not?! It wouldn’t be hard. Or we’ll tell them you’re unfit for duty. I’ve got a decent supply of bandages. We could whip up an injury easily enough.”

“Jack, no. I’m not going to lie to the government. If nothing else, I’d lose my job.”

“You’ll lose it anyway.”

“The newspaper will still be here when I get back.”

It was clear that David had already had this argument with himself, probably several times. If Davey couldn’t talk himself out of it, Jack was hardly going to make a difference.

Which meant he had to do this the hard way.

“I’m going to fix this,” he called over his shoulder as he walked back out of the apartment. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Jack!” Davey called after him.

Jack ignored him. Davey wouldn’t like this. Davey would try to talk him out of this. But Davey would be happier in the long run. And that was what mattered. Besides, he reassured himself, if Davey _really_ didn’t want this he would be storming out here to stop him.

\--

Spot Conlon was a hard man to find, these days. Still, Jack knew a guy. And maybe that guy owed him a favor or two from all the times in their youth when Jack had lent him money for gambling. And maybe that guy also happened to be “close” to Spot Conlon. Jack didn’t know the details, and he didn’t ask, but he did manage to track down Spot in under two hours.

The bar was seedy as hell, but Jack got the feeling Spot probably liked it that way. He noticed the blond sitting in a dark corner, surveying the rest of the room casually. Jack suspected he’d already been noticed and recognized, but perhaps not. He hadn’t seen Spot for years, and Spot hadn’t seen him. The man before him was barely recognizable as the cocky kid who’d ruled Brooklyn.

Of course, the cockiness was still there, and he was still short and wiry, but there was a coldness to him that had never been there when he was a kid. They’d all been terrified of him, but looking back Jack knew Spot had been essentially harmless all those years ago.

He wasn’t harmless anymore.

“Cowboy,” he greeted Jack with an insincere smile, indicating an unoccupied chair across from him.

Jack didn’t bother with social niceties.

“Davey’s been drafted.”

Spot took in the words thoughtfully.

“And? What do you want me to do with this information?”

Jack glared at him and tried to keep his cool.

“I want you to fix it. I want you to get him out of it.”

“Race may owe you something, Jack, but I sure as hell don’t. So, what’s in it for me?”

And there it was. The catch.

“Anything,” Jack offered desperately.

Spot’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly.

“Anything? You sure about that, Kelly?”

It was a test. How committed was Jack? He already knew the answer to that, and Spot did too.

“Name your price,” Jack said. “I’ll get it for you.”

A lazy smile spread across Spot’s face.

“What I want from you is very simple, Jack Kelly. I want you to owe me. Someday in the future, I will ask you to do something for me. And you can’t refuse, no matter what it is. Do we have a deal?”

“Done,” Jack agreed, probably more quickly than he should have.

Spot extended a hand, and they shook on it.

\--

When he got home, Davey hadn’t moved.

“It’s done,” Jack said, slumping on the couch next to his lover.

Davey looked up, an unreadable expression on his face.

“You went to Spot, didn’t you?”

“I figured if anyone could help, it would be him.”

“What did he want in return?”

Jack shrugged.

“I’ll find out eventually, I suppose.”

Davey sat up bolt upright.

“You made a deal without knowing the terms?!”

Jack laughed, hoping to disguise his own doubts.

“Spot just wants to be able to lord it over me. He wants me to know I owe him a favor. I doubt he’ll ever call it in. Don’t worry about it.”

“You don’t really believe that.”

“Maybe not, but I just got you out of the army. The least you could do is be grateful.”

A small smile played at Davey’s lips.

“I would never have asked you to do this, but I can’t say I’m sorry you did. Thank you.”

Jack leaned over and gently kissed Davey’s forehead.

“Anything for you, babe.”

\--

The next morning, there was a knock on the door as they were scarfing down breakfast. Jack jumped up and headed for the door.

“Who is it?”

“Message for Francis Sullivan!” a young voice called from outside.

Jack sighed and opened the door. A young boy was standing in the doorway, clutching a piece of paper and staring up at him appraisingly.

“Hand it over, kid,”

“You Francis Sullivan?”

“That’s right, kid. Message?”

“Payment first.”

Jack knew the scam. He’d pulled it himself dozens of times. Still, he reached into his pocket and produced a nickel. The boy grabbed it eagerly and thrust a sheet of paper into his hand before running off.

When he closed the door and turned around, he saw that Davey hadn’t moved, the expression on his face caught between hope and terror. He looked down at the paper in his hand.

“There was a small fire at the draft office last night. Certain files may have been destroyed. Don’t forget that you owe me one, Cowboy.”

As he read the letter aloud, Jack felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

Davey smiled, just a bit, and stood up, crossing the room to read the contents himself over Jack’s shoulder. He kissed Jack gently, pulled on his jacket, and headed out the door.

“I’m off to work. See you tonight.”

Jack smiled at the lightness in Davey’s voice.

“See you tonight.”

**Author's Note:**

> The title is not particularly creative. It is, however, relevant, so I'm keeping it. It comes from the WWI term for draft dodgers. I actually did a ton of research on WWI that didn't make it into this fic.  
> Just for fun, a post I complied of some of the registration cards under the names Jack Kelly and David Jacobs: acedavey.tumblr.com/post/86146789037/anyone-interested-in-my-foray-into-wwi-draft


End file.
